


Of Riddles an Ridicule

by jumpingjaxx13



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bad Matchmaking, Edward Nygma's Bad Riddles, Emotional Confusion, Getting Together, Impossible Technology, It's Gotham Don't Question It, M/M, Matchmaking, Neutral Lucius Fox, Questionable Psychology, Star Trek References, That is Somehow Now Possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 18:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12659187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpingjaxx13/pseuds/jumpingjaxx13
Summary: Written for the Gotham Buddy Exchange!Prompt:Post S3, Ed recovers from his brain-freeze and keeps kidnapping Lucius so that Lucius will help him with things. Lucius, long-suffering man that he is, ends up playing matchmaker for Ed/Oswald.AKA Lucius just wants these two emotionally stunted criminals to leave him in peace.





	Of Riddles an Ridicule

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leaper182](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182/gifts).



> This is for my buddy, leaper182. I hope you enjoy and that I'm not fucking up too badly!!

Lucius Fox fancied himself a patient man. Bruce Wayne, last surviving heir to  _ Wayne Enterprises _ and her massive fortune, wanted to fling himself between bullets on the street and call it rock-climbing? Fine. The corrupt leaders of the city wanted him to turn a blind eye to a maniac with a flimsy license? If he must, then he will. There were a lot of ridiculous eccentricities that come with living in the heart of Gotham that he’d conditioned himself to simply accept.

 

But if he got kidnapped one more time, he was going to take that last string of patience and tear it to shreds. 

 

The first time it happened, it wasn’t half bad. Edward Nygma was a sadist of the highest degree, but his narcissism and penchant for a  _ proper _ foe restrained him from truly brutalizing him. He supposed that he should be flattered that Ed thought so highly of him-- and he might have, were it not for the tedious chores that came with it. 

 

“No. I’m not doing it.”

 

“You’re hardly in a position to be making such concrete decisions, Mr. Fox.”

 

“I’m not doing it because the technology is too advanced. Also, I have no intention of participating in this underground political murder game. So, thanks, but no thanks.”

 

“Please, Mr. Fox, be rational.”

 

“There is nothing  _ rational _ about a mind-melding laser gun!” 

 

Lucius stared up at his captor, fearless incredulity pulsing through his veins. Before, he’d thought that he would have to be a father to experience this brand of stress, but even  _ looking _ at Edward Nygma turned another patch of hair grey. How such a logical man could cite such illogical solutions only served as a testament to the frostbitten state of his mind. In scrambling to reclaim what he’d lost, he’d lost what credibility he had left; even worse, he  _ knew _ it. He knew  _ exactly _ how he appeared in his desperation and, had he not been such a nuisance, Lucius would have sympathized with him. Maybe. 

 

Ed scowled, a vein jumping almost comically as he grit his teeth. “It is  _ not _ a “ _ mind-melding laser gun _ !” It’s a device that will synchronize brain waves through electromagnetic pulses, thus allowing other people’s brain activity to elevate my own brain function!” He paused. “...Which, I suppose  _ could _ be considered a mind-melding laser gun… But that’s not the point!”

 

“That’s exactly the point,” Lucius argued, voice as composed as always. Eventually--  _ eventually _ \-- Edward Nygma would run out of buttons to push and send his civil resolve crumbling down, and this desire to play Vulcan almost had him cornered. “It’s a complete and total delusion! How do you know that altering brain waves won’t damage you further?”

 

Ed scoffed. “At this point, I doubt anything could do more damage than what’s already been done. Seeing as the more traditional methods have offered less than zero results, I’m willing to consider just about anything right now. I’d never forgive myself to settle at the point of no return.”

 

_ The point of no return. _ In Lucius’s opinion, he’d long since crossed that line, but he knew better than to say so and held his tongue. Instead, he sighed softly-- a long draw through his nose followed by a slow exhale through parted lips-- and compelled his creased brow to relax. By now, he should have realized the fallacy of negotiating with a man so far gone as Edward Nygma. The obscenely green suit, the wild eyes, the messy hair, the tactless delusions running off his lips-- simply being in his presence sent off a dozen red flags that the logic which had once directed his life had been all but lost. 

 

Honestly, it was a shame. In another life, they likely would have been friends. 

 

Setting his jaw, he looked at the infamous  _ “Riddler” _ with stern sympathy (not unlike the expression of a father trying to correct a child spiraling downward). 

 

“I understand your concerns,” he started, watching as the taller man’s insistent expression melted into guarded disappointment. “Really, I do. You feel like you’ve lost everything, and you’re desperate. I get that. But I’m telling you that there is nothing I can do-- nothing like that.”

 

“What do you know about how I feel?” Ed growled, bitter frustration seeping into his voice and poisoning his words. “You..  _ You _ don’t get to tell  _ me _ what I’m feeling. You don’t know anything. You don’t understand  _ any _ of it.”

 

“Then why don’t you enlighten me?” Lucius prompted. “Since I’m obviously inferentially inept--”

 

“I didn’t say that!” Ed scolded, taking personal offense to the implication that his perfect intellectual rival had somehow decreased in value in any fashion. What would that say about him if his hand-picked adversary-- the only one who could solve his riddles in the face of death-- showed any amount of intellectual fault? It would rob him of any hope for redemption. It would insist that his world was truly falling apart at the seams. If Oswald could love him into derision and Lucius could succumb to mental mush, then what chance did Edward have of reclaiming his title? 

 

None. He had  _ no _ chance. And he wouldn’t lay down and accept that. 

 

“Then what  _ are _ you saying?” Lucius questioned, hardly taken aback by the rapid interruption. 

 

Ed glowered at him, but he could easily see a trickle of frenzied weakness in his eyes that had cracked through the veil. “What I’m  _ saying _ is that you are going to make this for me. My emotional state does not pertain to you or what you  _ will _ do.  _ That _ is what I’m saying.”

 

“And  _ I’m _ saying that I can’t do that,” Lucius countered, crossing his arms over his chest in cool defiance. “Listen to me, Mr. Nygma. What you’re asking of me is impossible. Even if I wanted to create this…  _ device _ , I couldn’t. Not without knowing the specific patterns of yourself and the other party, which part of the brain you’re trying to strengthen, which parts you want to use from other people… It’s just too much. Too many variables. Surely, as a man of science yourself, you understand.”

 

_ Appealing to what’s left of my wits? Cute….. But effective nonetheless. _ Moistening his lips, Edward vacillated from foot to foot, as if deeply contemplating his words. While the fleeting tendrils of pride demanded that his intentions remain anonymous, to receive such a tool and facilitate his sweet vengeance at the cost of a few moments’ humility appeared reasonable…

 

“ _ A man of science? Surely, I don’t hear you correctly, Mr. Fox,” _ a familiar voice chimed in, the pitchy sound resonating through the halls. Uneven footsteps signaled the arrival, making Edward’s stomach churn with the strangest amalgamation of raw wrath and a dash of confused desire.  _ Annoyance _ , he eventually decided. He was annoyed. “ _ I doubt that Ed is a man of  _ **_anything_ ** _ nowadays. _ ”

 

Gritting his teeth, Edward snapped his attention from Lucius to the doorway, incensed to find the one and only Oswald Cobblepot and his hairless lackey passing through it. “ _ Oswald _ ,” he spat, fists clenching by his side. “I don’t remember asking your opinion. In fact, I don’t remember inviting you to this at all. So, if you would kindly leave…”

 

Oswald arched a brow, gaze shifting between the unstable Edward Nygma and his defiant, very free prisoner. “And what exactly is  _ this _ ?”

 

Edward hesitated. “A… consultation.”

 

“A  _ consultation _ ?”

 

“Yes,” he confirmed, gaze crawling to the corner of his eye to keep Oswald in his sights as he turned his head to Lucius. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Fox?”

 

Lucius paused for the shortest eternity, a billion different courses of action spiraling through his head. He could get out of this. This could be his ticket out of this mess, and he could leave the  _ mild-melding laser gun _ in the dust where it belonged. One word-- one simple word could end this before it began, but there was no telling how many more ideas Edward could come up with. How many more times he’d be stolen away. How much greyer his hair could get…

 

“Yes, of course.” He dropped his arms to his side and straightened his posture professionally. “Mr. Nygma and I have just been talking.”

 

“Talking?” Oswald accused, a distrustful, vague tug of a smile pulling on his lips. “Or  _ conspiring _ ?”

 

“You know fully well that I don’t partake in conspiracy, Mr. Cobblepot,” Lucius stated. “In  _ anybody’s _ conspiracies, for that matter.” The implication hung in the air for heavy moments, weighing down on the tension until the former finally caved. 

 

“Indeed. Forgive me, Mr. Fox,” he relented, forcing his smile into something that appeared more genuine, but still taut with mistrust. Had he not been the only neutral genius left in the GCPD, Oswald would have likely scorned him if not for fear of losing him to the other side of the war. That’s what this was, was it not? A war in every sense-- in every degree. 

 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he mused, nodding respectfully, though he internally felt nothing of the sort. Slowly but surely, an old sense of  _ patience _ seeped back into his blood, calming his frustrated heart. Cobblepot’s corruption was normal-- predictable. He could tell what he was going to do and when it would be over. Even though he’d elected not to dig deeper into this matter, it seemed as if his escape was imminent. 

 

_ Finally _ . He did  _ not _ want to be caught in the (hopefully verbal) crossfire, and the sooner he made his exit, the sooner the rivals could argue over his non-existent allegiance, and the sooner he could stop standing in the middle of this underworld tug-of-war.

 

Clearing his throat, Lucius adjusted the collar of his shirt and glanced quickly between his captor, his unwitting saviors, and the doorway behind them. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to return to work. We wouldn’t want the GCPD getting worried, would we?”

 

“Of course not,” Oswald agreed, lips pursed somewhere between a faux humble smile and mild irritation. “My apologies for cutting this  _ consultation _ short.”

 

“There was nothing to cut,” Lucius insisted, regarding Ed with a nod before beginning to walk past Oswald and out the--

 

“ _ Wait!” _

 

Lucius stopped in his tracks, brow arched curiously as he turned to look at Edward once again. The man was a mess of ideas tethered only by the thin strings of faux composure, and he could see them straining at the seams. Hell, he could even see the telltale twitch of a vein pulsing on his forehead. Patiently-- because Lucius Fox was a patient man at his core regardless of how many buttons someone pushed-- he nodded as an invitation to continue.

 

Hesitating only slightly before taking in a deep breath, Edward Nygma squeezed his eyes shut with such concentration that he feared the man may explode as he spoke.

 

_ “Black and white, but never red _

_ What water never renders dead  _

_ My truth, my weakness, my troubled plot _

_ Behold, my wingless mental clot! _ ”

 

Silence echoed through the crisp “t” of his final word, a tense bewilderment hanging thick in the air as surrounding minds tried to process the mixed-up logic of Ed’s muddled mind.  _ Wingless mental clot? _ What the hell was  _ that _ supposed to mean? Where riddles once flew as easily as a stream from his tongue now came this warped monstrosity that even Lucius struggled to pinpoint the message of. Yet, the deep brown eyes, once opened, stared intensely at him-- with the passion akin to a plea, pushing and hoping his words came across to his  _ proper foe _ . 

 

Unwilling to be so heartless as to drag this out, Lucius pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded.

 

“...Did anyone actually get that?” Zsasz inquired, breaking the silence. His face was pinched into a confused expression, brow drawn together and lip pouting just enough that, if he were anyone other than Victor Zsasz, it would have been adorable.

 

“No, Victor. Nobody got that,” Oswald snapped, an uncomfortable countenance gracing his features. Was it mockery? Pity? Guilt? Maliciousness? Perhaps even some twisted myriad of them all. “Nobody got that because it’s nothing but gibberish spouting from the broken brain of a broken man.” Even as he spoke, Lucius was not fooled into believing him so complacent. The Penguin’s paranoia was unrivalled, and to think that he would dismiss any amount of gibberish from Ed’s mouth as nonsense without first taking it to heart would make him the owner of an equally broken brain.

 

Not wanting to get deeper involved with…  _ whatever _ was going on between these two, Lucius nodded shortly again. “Right. And, without any further interruptions, I’ll be on my way.”

 

And on his way he went, the neophyte riddle running on repeat in his head as he strolled back to the GCPD. 

 

“ _ Black and white, but never red _

_ What water never renders dead  _

_ My truth, my weakness, my troubled plot _

_ Behold, my wingless mental clot!” _

 

“Black and white, but never red…” he muttered under his breath, fingers running pensively over papers he was supposed to be filing away. While not necessarily his responsibility, he decided that he could use a dose of mind-numbing routine after the spontaneity of the day and had volunteered to take on the task. The filing room was quiet, contributing to the creamy solitude that allowed him to think. 

“What water never renders dead…” A reference to something aquatic? Black and white… An orca, perhaps? An orca had no connection to the following verses, however… did it? 

 

“Truth, weakness, trouble, plot…” Lucius mumbled, slipping another folder into place. This was so smooth-- so organized, with everything having its right place. Its purpose. But one file too many, and it’d all get stuck.  _ A clot _ . 

 

Lucius froze.  _ A clot _ . A clot implied that something was stuck, caught somewhere it should not be. In this case, the subject of the riddle was stuck in Edward’s head, but  _ wingless _ ? Wings are used in flight, and to not have wings would imply that whatever was stuck had no route of escape. Should this stationary clot be both true and weakening, then a man as prideful as he would obviously go to any means to correct it.  _ Troubled plot-- _ the mind-melding laser gun! To reverse a reality and strengthen himself, he would need quite the troublesome tools…

 

Lucius flashed back to the conversation, the demands he had made before the Penguin entered and brought bitter freedom--

 

_ The Penguin _ . Black and white, but never red-- a reference to the classic riddle told by children everywhere with answers varying between a newspaper, a sunburnt zebra, or even a _ penguin _ . What water never renders dead-- a  _ penguin _ spends ages in the water and returns victorious, and this wasn’t even mentioning the number of times the docks had nearly rendered the  _ Penguin _ fish fodder. Should his interpretation of the second half continue to reign true, then Lucius knew exactly what to do.

 

_ The Riddler _ wanted  _ The Penguin _ out of his head, feeling so troubled by this emotional rut he’s been in that he sees little escape.  _ Edward Nygma _ , on the other hand, required a rock-- something to hold on to as his world was falling apart-- and thus created this  _ clot _ that he could not usurp. The person with which he wanted to synchronize with in either scenario was none other than  _ The Penguin _ , and such a desire had the potential to strengthen or destroy himself.

 

Old rumors and memories of flickering, conflicted emotions flashed through his mind-- Edward’s longing desperation that he so desperately tried to mask, the guilty turmoil in Oswald’s eyes, the countless rumors and stories of the true nature of their tumultuous relationship.

 

Lucius smiled. Digging through the files, he pulled one out that pertained to the less-than-legal, hardly realistic experiments previously performed at Wayne Enterprises. 

 

Perhaps he could help after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm with Zsasz on this one-- I never would've been able to figure that out on my own. Next chapter will bring about the birth of Lucius's matchmaking plot.


End file.
